The Selkie Enchantress (18 page)

Sam’s brows shot up. “Why not?”

“I don’t know if he can be objective. Whatever we’re dealing with, I’m afraid it’s connected to Liam and Caitlin. He’s still struggling to come to terms with the fact that his little brother was starting a relationship with his best friend. Even though, between you and me, I think something’s been going on between them for a lot longer. But until he can accept that, really accept that, I need an outsider’s ear. Someone who can tell me if there’s any merit to my fears before I get too carried away.”

Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “How’s he going to feel about you talking to me about this first?”

“You’re a good detective, Sam. I trust you. And Dom will come around someday. You just have to give it time.”

Sam lifted his gaze to the leaking roof. “I wouldn’t. If I were him.”

Tara closed the distance between them, putting a gentle hand on his arm. “You’ve changed, Sam. I don’t blame you for leading Philip here. And I understand what it’s like to be running from a terrible past and to just want forgiveness and a clean slate.”

As much as those words meant to him, he didn’t want to go back down this road again. His investigative skills had done nothing but get him into trouble over the years. Slipping his arm free, he grabbed the wooden handles of the wheelbarrow and rolled it across the hall to the next stall.

“You can’t run forever, Sam.”

“Maybe not,” he conceded, shoveling more hay into the wheelbarrow. “But I can drop off the map for a while.”

“Your past will catch up with you. Take it from someone who knows.”

His past would catch up with him alright. But at least for now he could breathe. And focus his energy on taking care of something besides himself for a change. He scooted a sheep aside and scooped up another pitchfork full of muck. It was best to take life one day at a time. Keep your expectations low. And wait for the next punch life threw at you. Then decide whether to dodge or fight back. It was nice, at least for now, to be miles from the punches.

“You could have taken the money and run,” Tara said softly. “You could have gone anywhere.”

“It was a moment of conscience.” A stocky bay in the neighboring stall stuck his nose through the metal bars. Sam couldn’t resist the urge to feed him a sugar cube and fished one out of his pocket. “I don’t have many of them.”

“You stayed here, Sam. On
this
island. A place where it was possible no one would accept you after what you’d done.”

The horse crunched the sugar cube, bumping his shoulder for another one. “But you do.”

“I do. I don’t blame you. If you hadn’t led Philip here, I might still be running.” Tara walked up to the stall, curling her fingers around the top of the door. “This island speaks to you, Sam. I can see it in your eyes. The same way it speaks to me. But if you want to be a part of this island. If you want it to heal you, you have to become a part of it.”

“You’re a better person than me, Tara.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He paused, gazing at her across the stall.

“I know you want to help, Sam. And I know you’re afraid. But you can’t keep hiding out on this farm, pretending all the company you need is these animals.”

He looked away.

“If you won’t do it for me, do it for Glenna.”

He lifted his eyes to hers slowly.

“We need you, Sam.
She
needs you. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but I’m afraid it has more to do with Glenna than Nuala. That it’s bigger than any of us realize. And like this past summer, it’s going to take all of us.”

Sam shoved one last scoop of soiled hay into the barrel, then rested the pitchfork across it. Ambling over to the door, he leaned his arms over the top. “I might have been reading up on a legend or two lately. After everything that happened this summer, I started studying them. As a hobby, I guess. You know Brennan’s house is full of them?”

Tara let out a breath, nodding.

“I can’t make any promises,” he warned. “But I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Anything,” Tara urged. “If you can think of anything at all that would explain Owen’s… situation.”

“Only one. But it’s not really a story, or a legend. It’s more of a superstition.”

“What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of a changeling?”

Tara shook her head.

“Some cultures believe that magical creatures—fairies, dwarves, trolls—will sneak into homes at night and steal human children, leaving one of their own in its place.”

Tara chewed on her lip. “You think someone stole Owen? When he was a child?”

“It usually happens when they’re infants, so you can’t tell the difference. I know it seems crazy, but it comes up a lot in fairy tales of all different cultures. It’s at least worth considering. Are we sure Nuala is his real mother?”

“No,” Tara said slowly. “But Owen’s convinced he’s been living underwater. That’s not possible, is it? A human child can’t just go underwater.”

Sam scratched his fingers over his chin, pondering. “Changelings are stolen by fairies or trolls to live in the woods or underground in caves.”

“But that’s still on land,” Tara argued. “That’s still breathing air. We’re talking about a kid being stolen and taken
underwater
. We don’t have the same breathing mechanisms.”

“True,” Sam agreed. “Unless… the child had selkie blood in him already.”

Tara lifted her eyes to his. “You think…?”

“I don’t know what I think.” Sam shook his head. “But I’d like to have another look at this child, and maybe ask him a question or two.”

Glenna snatched the hem of her coat from the rusted nail jutting out of the wooden stile. She clambered over the slippery ladder leading over the stone wall, her red leather boots sinking into the mud as she jumped down, hurrying back to her cottage. She’d done what she set out to do—to shake Nuala up. But she still didn’t know who Nuala was, how she’d gotten tangled up with Owen, and what she wanted with Liam.

The only reason she knew to paint that palace was because she saw it in a vision this morning, not long before Caitlin and Tara came to her door. She painted the image furiously by candlelight, but it left her rattled and shaken. She could pretend as well as any woman, but the truth was, she didn’t know what they were up against yet.

And something about this whole situation had Moira written all over it. Restless, thundering rain poured down around her, soaking the already saturated pastures. She scrambled over another slick stile, her coat streaming out behind her as she dashed across the open expanse of land. This wasn’t Moira’s fight. Moira’s fight was with Glenna.
Not
Caitlin.

Unless there was something Glenna didn’t know. The wind tore over the barren landscape and she gripped the hood of her coat, shielding her face from the stinging rain. She knew that Owen would come one day, that there would be a struggle. But not like this. Nothing like this.

She ducked under the canopy of thatch, her hand grasping the door handle. Whatever they were dealing with, she needed answers. She needed to know what they were up against so no one got hurt. She pushed the door open, letting out a thin scream as a man’s strong hand closed over her wrist and yanked her inside.

“Liam,” she gasped, stumbling into the dark cottage. “What are you doing here?” She let out a breath when she found her footing.

But his eyes never left hers as he closed the door. “You’ve some explaining to do, Glenna.”

“What do you mean?”

Liam led her into the room, turning her by the shoulders to face the table beside the door. “Why don’t you start by telling me where
that
came from?”

Glenna froze. Why hadn’t she hidden it better? Liam had pulled the cradle out from under the table. The blanket was tossed aside. She’d been in such a hurry to finish the painting, she’d forgotten to find a better hiding place for it. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t afford to fall apart now. They needed her.

“Liam.” She tried to shake him off, but his grip tightened around her.

She glanced up at him, meeting those cold, hard eyes. The scent of smoke, of something burning, rushed into the room. “It washed up on the beach yesterday.”

“What beach?”

“Liam…”

“
What
beach?”

“The one by Tara’s cottage.”

“Who found it?”

Glenna tugged again, biting back a curse when he held onto her. “Liam…”

A muscle in Liam’s jaw started to tick. “
Who
found it?”

“Caitlin,” Glenna breathed.

He spun her around to face him, his strong hands gripping her shoulders. “What the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing?”

Glenna stepped back, out of his reach. “I’m not playing games.”

Liam grabbed the book off the floor, holding it up. “It’s all connected. The rose. The cradle. The missing fairy tale. You knew it all along, didn’t you?”

He’d found it. Of course he’d found it. Glenna shook her head, keeping her eyes on him as she backed slowly into the sitting room.

He opened to the story, where the missing pages were torn from the book. “Tell me where you hid the story, Glenna.”

“It was gone before I got to it.”

“You’re lying.”

“I went to Brennan’s yesterday. I don’t know why the story is missing. But it was gone when I got there.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m on your side, Liam.”

He stared at her, frustration rippling off him in waves. He was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. She understood that. She wasn’t sure she would believe her if the roles were reversed. “Who the hell is she?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Glenna breathed. “Caitlin told me you’d… forgotten things. Have you started to remember?”

“Only pieces.” His gaze dropped back to the cradle. “And none of them adds up.” Walking slowly back over to the cradle, he stared down at the pearls shimmering in the dim light of the cottage. Pulling the rose out of his pocket, he looked down at the matching iridescent petals. “You said this cradle washed up on the beach today.”

Glenna nodded.

“And Caitlin found it.”

“Yes.”

“She brought it here? To you?”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“I think you better ask Caitlin that question.”

***

Glenna watched Liam stalk into the storm, his shape fading into the swirling gray mists. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned away from the window, crossing the dark room to the hearth. She built a fire and pulled out the white petal—the single petal that had fallen when Liam shoved the flower back in his pocket on his way out the door. It pressed into her palm, cold and hard as ice.

She closed her eyes and whispered a quiet chant. The faint tingling built. The rush of power flooded down her arms, through her fingers. The snap and crackle of fire burst from the hearth. The flames flared, filling the room with their warmth. She opened her eyes, inhaling a breath of smoke and seawater. Uncurling her fingers, she tossed the petal into the flames.

She saw nothing at first, heard nothing but the faint sizzle of steam as the icy petal turned to vapors and floated up. But as the curl of black smoke began to take shape, she saw the patterns form in the smoke. It could have been anything—the small bundle wrapped in a blanket—until the wisps of white smoke curled around it and the image of a cradle formed. The smoke teased the shape of a mother sitting beside it, rocking the cradle from side to side. The image was of Caitlin, and the child she would have had if he survived.

Glenna edged closer as another shape formed and a hand reached out, snatching the child away from the mother. A cold wind drifted into the hearth, swirling the smoke, and the images faded as quickly as they’d come. Glenna whirled as the terrible sound of something cracking and igniting reared up behind her.

No!
She dashed across the room to the cradle, smothering the flames in a blanket. But the fire swallowed the blanket, kicking out into the room. She scrambled back as it licked up the sides of the drawing table, swirling into a blazing fire. Every muscle in her body tensed as the flames took on the shape of a woman.

Black smoke swirled around the woman in the fire, curling into the strawberry blond waves that tumbled down to her slender waist. She wore a gold crown, glittering with rubies. A bracelet snaked up one arm, black volcanic rock braided with burnt coral. The woman smiled, her luminous green-gold eyes glittering. “Playing with fire again, darling?”

Her voice echoed into the room, hollow and foreign, like a voice from the sea. Empty as the sound of the ocean when you hold a shell up to your ear. Glenna felt all the energy, all the power drain out of her. “What do you want?”

Fire licked at the glittering hem of her golden dress, at the amber gemstones dripping from her fingers. A chunk of amber dangling from a glittering gold chain rested between her breasts, sparkling in the firelight at her feet. “Only to pass on a warning.”